


Red Sky Come Morning

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming back from a war isn't always the easiest part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Sky Come Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Much much love to [](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/profile)[**alethialia**](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparky77**](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/) for looking this over. They are made of awesome. Written for the [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/)**hc_bingo** , prompt PTSD.
> 
> Originally posted 6-10-10

The first time it happens, he pulls over to the side of the road and shakes for nearly an hour, gasping for air between sobs big and hard enough to make his entire body ache. When it finally ebbs, when he can see what’s in front of him instead of what’s in his head, it’s to find a police officer squinting into his tinted window, tapping on the glass with his nightstick.

He has to think hard to remember the way things work here, muscle memory fucked unless it involves loading a weapon or metaphorically bending over to get screwed for his men. His hands ache when he unclenches them from the steering wheel and reaches over to lower the window. He has to ease his foot off the pedal, too afraid if he doesn’t, he’ll peel out, leaving the officer covered in dust, a shamal of his own making.

“You okay, son?”

Nate can see the officer looking him over, looking for weapons and drugs and checking Nate’s eyes. He imagines his pupils are dilated with panic, but nothing worse than that, and this stretch of California road has seen enough shares of drug-related arrests that this guy’s probably a seasoned professional when it comes to knowing if someone’s high. The only thing Nate has surging through his veins is adrenaline. “Fine, officer.”

“Yeah?” He’s military, or was. Nate can tell by the way he holds himself. Cops have something like the stance, but it’s different in a way that only other military men recognize. “You don’t look so fine.”

He can’t quite help the giggle that bursts out, the slightly manic hysteria boiling in his chest, leaking out in sputtered laughter like a teapot overflowing. “No. No. I’m fine. See? Fine. Right as rain.” He holds a hand out to show that it’s steady, but instead it shakes like he’s got some sort of palsy. “Nerves of steel.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” His voice has that calming tone that pisses Nate off, the one that threatens to be condescending if he chooses to look at it that way. If he starts talking in third person, Nate’s not going to be responsible for his actions. “The problem is that these other guys on the road are not nearly as fine as you are, and probably not as well versed in defensive and tactical driving. So why don’t you give me the number of someone to call so we can get you home and do our job and keep these civilians safe.”

It’s the word that gets to him. _Civilians_ , like any of these people in their white SUVs and Lexus and Mercedes are civil. Their wars are just less bloody. Probably just as government subsidized. Their soldiers wear suits and live and die by the contract instead of the sword or AK-47 or M19. Civilians. Civvies. What he’s wearing right now – jeans and a t-shirt and nothing that says he’s a Marine. He’s a civilian right now. “Yeah. That’s our job.” He picks up his phone and flips through it, finding a number and handing the phone to the officer. He only hears one side of the conversation, but he can imagine the rest. Business-like and brusque, asking as few questions as necessary to get relevant information. When they’re done, he takes the phone back from the officer and stares at it. “How do you…”

“You don’t.”

Nate’s not sure what he’s asking, but he knows that the answer wouldn’t change if he was. Nate’s forever changed and he has to make a choice – take what he learned, what he now knows and do something with it or refuse to learn the lessons and go back, do it all again. He can’t go back to what he was. He can’t be who he was. “No. I suppose you don’t.”

“They keep trying to find a war they can win. Something like World War Two, where there was good and evil and straightforward fighting. War’s not like that anymore. When the good guys and the bad guys change from day to day. When they look and sound the same.” The officer shrugs and manages a wry smile at Nate. “You think they’d realize, given that the guys in charge today were fighting in Korea and Vietnam. Instead they keep trying the same battle plans, keep pretending that they’re always right and right always triumphs.”

“We’re King Arthur’s knights.”

The officer shakes his head as a motorcycle roars onto the horizon. “Tilting at windmills.”

Brad stops in a cloud of dust that clings to his jeans and helmet, shining like gold against the hairs on his arms. “Leave it to you to get your ass in trouble your first day of libo, sir.” He shakes the officer’s hand and nods at Nate. “Did he give you any trouble? Because you can’t trust the higher ups. Fuck up and blame it on you, expect you to unfuck them.” He’s smiling though, trying to put everyone at ease while he susses out the situation, wearing that stupid Brad smile that Nate likes to pretend is just for him.

“He was perfectly polite.”

“Fucking officers, man.” Brad shakes his head in disgust. “Put the back seats of this behemoth down, Captain. I’ll load my bike and haul your ass home.”

Nate can’t help but smile in return, most of the shaking gone now. He slides out of the car to help put the back seats down. “Not to mention the complete lack of respect.”

“I never said I’d respect you in the morning, sir.” Brad folds the seats down with practiced ease, as if he’s actually been near an SUV for anything other than mocking or war purposes. “But then, what do you expect when you’re fucking guys over on someone else’s command?” He smirks at Nate and then goes over to grab his bike. Nate can hear him talking to the officer, and he knows what Brad’s saying. He can practically see the enlisted camaraderie. But he sees the concern there and he tries to ignore Brad glancing his way. Eventually though, Brad claps the officer on the shoulder and wheels his bike up to Nate’s car. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive.”

“Like I’d trust you behind the wheel?” He tosses the keys.

Brad catches them and slides in smoothly, making the engine purr like a sleek jungle cat. For Nate, the best he can get is an angry house cat who hasn’t been given his kibble. “No better RTO this side of Pendleton, sir. Be happy with what you’ve got.”

“I don’t know what I’ve got, Brad.”

They both know that’s a lie, but there’s nothing that can be said regardless. “Well then,” Brad finally fills the silence as he heads toward the base, toward what Nate’s beginning to realize isn’t anything like home. “Be happy you’re alive to figure it out.”  



End file.
